anything or
anybody. From this point there was a pleasant meadow field sloping
prettily away to a little hill about three quarters of a mile distant;
which, catching some fine breezes from the moors beyond, was held to be
a place of cure for whooping-cough, or kincough, as it was vulgarly
called. Up to the top of this Kitty had dragged me, and carried Patty,
when we were recovering from the complaint, as I well remember. It was
the only 'change of air' we could afford, and I dare say it did as well
as if we had gone into badly drained lodgings at the seaside.

"This hill was now covered with snow and stood off against the gray sky.
The white fields looked vast and dreary in the dusk. The only gay things
to be seen were the berries on the holly hedge, in the little
lane--which, running by the end of our back-yard, led up to the
Hall--and the fat robin, that was staring at me. I was looking at the
robin, when Patty, who had been peering out of her corner of Kitty's
shawl, gave a great jump that dragged the shawl from our heads, and
cried:

"'Look!'

"I looked. An old man was coming along the lane. His hair and beard were
as white as cotton-wool. He had a face like the sort of apple that
keeps well in winter; his coat was old and brown. There was snow about
him in patches, and he carried a small fir-tree.

"The same conviction seized upon us both. With one breath, we exclaimed,
'_It's Old Father Christmas!_'

"I know now that it was only an old man of the place, with whom we did
not happen to be acquainted and that he was taking a little fir-tree up
to the Hall, to be made into a Christmas-tree. He was a very
good-humoured old fellow, and rather deaf, for which he made up by
smiling and nodding his head a good deal, and saying, 'aye, aye, _to_ be
sure!' at likely intervals.

"As he passed us and met our earnest gaze, he smiled and nodded so
earnestly that I was bold enough to cry, 'Good-evening, Father
Christmas!'

"'Same to you!' said he, in a high-pitched voice.

"'Then you _are_ Father Christmas?' said Patty.

"'And a happy New Year,' was Father Christmas's reply, which rather put
me out. But he smiled in such a satisfactory manner that Patty went on,
'You're very old, aren't you?'

"'So I be, miss, so I be,' said Father Christmas, nodding.

"'Father says you're eighteen hundred and thirty years old,' I muttered.

"'Aye, aye, to be sure,' said Father Christmas. 'I'm a long age.'

"A _very_ long age, tho